So what the hell was this about?
Had Uncle Nelson fallen ill again?
Maybe something had happened to Calvin’s asshole, homophobic father?
And then, because I was a semidecent human being, I immediately felt guilty for giving life to such a thought. I swore and tapped Accept.
“Uh—Calvin Winter’s phone.” I winced.
Acute silence and hesitation echoed on the other end. Finally a voice asked, “Calvin…?”
“No. This is Sebastian Snow. His—er—” I froze up before blurting outfiancé. It wasn’t my place. Marc might be my future brother-in-law, but this announcement needed to come from Calvin, in whatever method he felt was best for delivering it. “His guy,” I eventually said. I smacked my forehead.
His guy?
Christ.
“His boyfriend,” I corrected. Wow, did I sound like a complete dunce.
“Oh.” More silence. “My name is Marc. I’m his… I’m Calvin’s brother.”
“Yeah. I mean, I know. Your name is in his address book.”
“Is Calvin available?”
“No.” Okay, maybe a touch hostile.
“When would be a better time for me to call?”
“Uh….” I ran a hand through my still-damp hair. “Can I ask what it’s in regard to?”
“It’s personal,” Marc answered coolly.
“I see.” I shoved my hand into my pocket. “It’s not my intention to stir up drama by saying this, but now probably isn’t a good time.”
He let out a long breath over the line. “With all due respect, Mr. Snow, this is my brother’s phone number. Not yours.”
I took a play from both Calvin’s and Neil’s handbooks—count to ten.
Unfortunately I only made it to three.
“He’s in the middle of a homicide investigation,” I answered, more curtly.
Another pause from Marc. “All right,” he said, drawing the response out. “Look… I’m calling because I’m in the city for business all week. And I would like to see Calvin.”
My gut was saying no. Not no, buthell no. Don’t let this familial pressure bog Calvin down during a case that’s already got him stressed-out. But how did I relay that importance to Marc without simultaneously undermining the man I loved? For someone related by blood, I was fairly certain Marc knew little or nothing of how the atrocities of war left their mark on Calvin. And he definitely wasn’t aware of the effort Calvin put into bettering his health, or how his family suddenly parachuting into his life would probably have an adverse effect.
I had my suspicions that, in the Winter household, Calvin was a decorated military officer to boast of.Heroes didn’t suffer.Heroes didn’t have scars. So in retrospect, it was of little surprise that Calvin refused to admit for so long that he had PTSD. He’d been conditioned to lie about his sexuality for forty years—what was a little extra emotional and mental trauma added to that?
God. It made me feel sick to imagine growing up in such a way. But it also made me all the more thankful that I could share my own dad with Calvin, give him the loving father figure he never had.
“Marc?”
“Yes?” he asked warily.
“Can we meet first? You and me? Calvin really is in the middle of a case. A high-profile one,” I added, which was a lie, but whatever. “I’m on my way to work—my shop is in the East Village. Snow’s Antique Emporium. Can you be there by nine?”
More silence.
